In the Shadows of War
by The FireSpark
Summary: Daar Stevaan has recently returned to Starfleet, and is looking forward to his first command, but the political climate of the quadrant has begun to destabilize. When the Klingon Empire annexs a Federation colony, Stevaan finds himself at the forefront of inevitable conflict. Facing the one thing he hoped never to see again. War.
1. Chapter 1

Star Trek Online

In the Shadows of War

Chapter 1

Stevaan looked up from his PADD as the turbolift doors slowly hissed opened. Very slowly. He shook his head slightly, enough to set his earring to jingling for a moment. He made a mental to have someone take a look at the door's actuators, though he doubted that there was anyone who could make it a priority. Once the doors had opened enough for him to get through, Stevaan stepped out and onto the bridge of the _U.S.S. Bastion_. As he strode down to the Captain's chair located at the center of chamber, he looked around and grinned to himself, as he did every morning upon first seeing the bridge. Even its current state of disassembly, Stevaan could not help but see, and hear, and almost feel the finished result in his mind. The soft chirping of the various workstations about the bridge. The murmur of crewmembers conversing with each other. And all of it underscored by the almost inaudible, but omnipresent, thrumming of charged power conduits and integrity fields. For now though, the bridge was eerily quiet. The operations and navigation systems were only accessible through temporary consoles that were for the most part silent. The work stations in the aft of the space had yet to be reinstalled at all. And with the _Bastion_ currently in dry dock for refit, the ship board power levels were minimal.

Pulling himself from his reverie, Stevaan stepped over to the Captain's chair, which was the only piece of furniture currently on the bridge, and that only because he had installed it himself. Tucking his PADD into a thigh pocket of his work coveralls, he set down the small toolbox and hard case satchel that he had brought with him. Sitting, Stevaan produced a small cylindrical flask from within the satchel. Uncapping the flask, and using the lid as a cup, Stevaan filled the cup with a gently steaming golden brown liquid from the flask. After blowing across the surface of the liquid for a brief moment, he took a tentative sip. He tried and failed to contain the grimace that twisted the corner of his mouth. Even though he had programmed the recipe himself, including all the molecular variables of the individual ingredients, it seemed that the station replicators just were not capable of producing a decent cup of deka tea. Stevaan sighed to himself as he retrieved the PADD from his pocket. Being this far from Bajor, it was unlikely that he would be able to get a hold of fresh deka leaves. At least not at any rate he wanted to pay for them. He considered that he did have some leave coming soon, and perhaps he could make a quick trip back home. Pick up a number of comfort items to hold him over until he could make a longer visit.

Stevaan leaned back in the chair and started looking over the schedule for the day. Sipping at, and managing to tolerate, his tea as he read. There was plenty to do, most of it rather large in scale at this early stage in the refit process. Stevaan just saw this as meaning that there were plenty of smaller tasks for him to get hands on with, and put his personal touch on the ship. The refurbishment of the warp core ejection systems were slated to begin later that week, but Stevaan decided against that task, as the project manager tended to become agitated when he tried to jump ahead of the prescribed schedule and order of things. There were the emergency bulkheads on deck five, which had fallen two days behind on their install schedule. And delays were yet another thing which agitated the project lead.

Stevaan had just finished his cup of passable deka tea, and was about to move on to looking over tasks scheduled for next week, when he heard the soft and slow hiss of the main turbolift doors. A glance over his left shoulder allowed him to see a pair of black work boots step out of the lift and onto the bridge. A moment later and the boot's owner became visible as they strode down the gentle ramp, a human male, and over to where the operations station would eventually be installed.

Stevaan took in the human's appearance as he tapped slowly at something on the temporary operations console. He was a young man by Stevaan's guess, with dark wavy hair, and clad in dark green maintainer's coveralls, much like the set Stevaan currently wore. Though there the similarities between the human and himself ended. The crewman's coveralls appeared to be comprised entirely of wrinkled and slightly stained fabric. A state of being that seemed to extend to the crewman's personal grooming, as the young man's hair looked as if he had taken to it with a power tool of some sort, rather than brush or comb. Stevaan gave the back of the man's head a slight glare, but decided to let the minor transgression slide for the time being.

The crewman tapped at the console twice more then turned to leave. As he caught sight of Stevaan with his bleary eyed gaze, he almost miss stepped, but righted his footing and then stood in place. There was a brief pause as the young man seemed to be determining whether or not he was witnessing an illusion. As a hint of realization dawned on him, the man gave Stevaan a weak wave of his hand.

"Oh, hey. I, uh, didn't see you there."

Stevaan inclined his head slightly in return, a wry grin at the recognition of seeing someone that had not yet fully awakened from sleep. As he continued to watch, he clearly saw the crewman's focus shift downwards slightly. Stevaan let his PADD come to rest on his knee, and tried to keep a straight face as he could practically hear the young man counting in his head. Specifically, counting the insignia pips on Stevaan's shirt collar. Suddenly the young man stiffened , and then paled slightly, as his face dropped with recognition.

"Uh. I, uh – ahem. I mean, er, good morning Captain. Sir."

The man opened his mouth to say something more, but appeared to have run out of words. Stevaan held the crewman's gaze, and let the silence hang a moment longer than was probably comfortable for the young man. Then as nonchalantly as he could, Stevaan turned his attention back to the PADD in his hand with a curt nod.

"Good morning, Crewman."

The young man had obviously woken enough by this point to recognize the offered chance of escape, and he took it with all the speed that decorum would allow. Decorum, and the slow moving turbolift doors.

As the lift doors opened, the crewman jumped back slightly at the sound of voices from inside. The voices cut off suddenly as the doors finished opening. Stevaan was humored at the thought that it was due to the recently arrived occupants of the lift catching sight of the look on the dread stricken crewman's face. There came the sound of shuffling feet as the young man hurriedly moved aside to allow the new arrivals to exit, and then lift doors hissing closed once more. More than likely far too slowly for the newest occupant's liking.

As the lift departed, two newcomers came walking into Stevaan's field of view, and stopped a few paces in front of him in the center of the bridge. Stevaan did not recognize the Rigelian Ensign out of hand, as there were far too many officers about, between the _Bastion's_ refit crew, and that of the standing crew of the shipyard. The officer in the lead though, he recognized almost by her stride. Everything about Lieutenant Commander T'Sha spun from her innate sense of order and total lack of humor or frivolity. She kept her hair trimmed very short and straight as wire. She wore a neatly pressed standard duty uniform, even on construction duty. Her expression was one of the most dour Stevaan had ever encountered in Federation space. And even now, stood so straight as to imply someone had welded her spine into place. In short, she was the most Vulcan Vulcan he had ever met.

"Captain Daar. Might I formally request that we begin to conduct these morning briefings in your quarters aboard station? Your unannounced arrivals are beginning to have adverse results on crew performance and efficiency."

Stevaan gave T'Sha a broad and earnest smile as he rose to greet her.

"And a very good morning to you, Commander. Sleep well?"

One of T'Sha's eyebrows hitched slightly at the corner, and she turned her head slightly as her expression became even less amused, surprising Stevaan that such a thing was possible.

"My rest was sufficient to my needs, yes Captain." T'Sha paused to glance down at the PADD in Stevaan's hand, then returned her gaze to his. "Am I presume that you have found yet another – what was you called them – _pet project_ to direct your attentions toward?"

"I think I may have come up with a thing of two Commander." Stevaan said with a slight gesture to his PADD.

T'Sha was as abundant with self-control as any other Vulcan Stevaan had ever met, but after almost six months working around her on a daily basis, he had begun to master interpreting the little things about her. In this case, it was the ever so slight shift in her shoulder position and the even more subtle raising of both eyebrows. To an unfamiliar observer, the Lieutenant Commander may as well have moved at all. To Stevaan's trained eye, it was the equivalent of a heavy despondent sigh garnished by with a sardonic eye rolling. Discovering that Commander T'Sha's level of annoyance was already hitting peak levels first thing in the morning, Stevaan turned his attention back to his PADD. He started searching quickly for an entirely different task form those that he had already considered. To distract from the fact that he was doing this, he tried to engage T'Sha in conversation.

"Don't worry Commander. It's nothing to invasive. You know me, happy to be doing some work."

T'Sha's posture returned to its normal level of rigid perfection, though she spared the briefest of curious glances in Stevaan's direction, and then gently cleared her throat.

"Indeed, Captain. In the intervening months since you – joined – this refit project, I have become well versed with a great many of your idiosyncrasies. This is why I am quite certain that any assertion of mine that your skills and experience would be of greater need anywhere else will continue to be ignored."

Stevaan looked over to T'Sha with a glance. He still bore his genuine smile, though his eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt one of his eyebrows raise before he could stop it. T'Sha noticed both actions, but her only response was with a raised eyebrow of her own, highlighting the inquisitive look she now wore. A curious countenance, as if she were totally puzzled by the sudden appearance of Stevaan's mild glare. Stevaan took his turn at clearing his throat.

"Yes. Well. A Galaxy-class starship is a rather large vessel, and the refit is the perfect time to get a feel for all the _Bastion's_ little nuances. Learn her quirks. Maybe even put my own personal touch on a system or two along the way."

Once more, T'Sha's eyebrow popped up above her eye, though this time the look on her face was more disbelieving than inquisitive.

"Quite. As I understand it Captain, you have personally touched most, if not all, systems on board already."

Finally the cordial smile melted from Stevaan's face. T'Sha seemed to be behaving even more confrontational than usual. As confrontational as T'Sha was likely to get at any rate. He slapped the back of the PADD against his open palm a few times as he considered whether the Commander was being revengefully aggravating or simply did not realize she was coming across that way. In the end, he decided it didn't matter. After all, the Bastion's refit was her project, as assigned to her by Starfleet. As such, the project was hers to command and direct as she desired. Having a superior officer suddenly getting directly involved in the day to day activities would give any subordinate cause to feel undercut. And in this case, with the superior officer being a former engineer and the future captain of the ship in question, it was no surprise that it was causing enough tension to make even the most impassively logical Vulcan snappish.

Stevaan turned his attention back to the PADD once more. He skimmed quickly over the schedule for the day, looking for a job that might help signal his desire to not make things difficult on T'Sha, but without coming right out and saying it. He looked for some task that would need few hands to accomplish. Something in a remote location of the ship that would keep him out of the way of T'Sha and her people. Stevaan's finger stopped its meandering path of the PADD's display suddenly, and he allowed himself the smallest of self-satisfied grins.

"Well, Commander. For today, I was thinking of putting my personal touch on the new structural waveguides on Deck 11. Would that be acceptable with the schedule?"

Commander T'Sha's brow furrowed, and her head actually tilted slightly to one side. Stevaan manage to stifle a grin at the thought of how well he had thrown the Vulcan off beat. T'Sha regained her composure quickly though, and clasped her hands behind her back as she nodded her head.

"Yes, I believe it is. Assuming of course you are rated for SIF hardware and associated systems, of course."

"Commander, I would wager that I was tearing down my first SIF generator before you even entered the academy." Stevaan answered with a proud smile. "As it happens, structural engineering is one of my specialties."

Before T'Sha could respond to this boast, as it seemed she surely intended to, she was interrupted by a deep voice from the back of the bridge.

"And it is but one of many specialties you have, that I am aware of."

T'Sha and the Rigelian Ensign suddenly snapped to attention. Stevaan recognized the voice instantly without even turning around. In a formal and clipped tone, T'Sha curtly informed him of what he already knew.

"Admiral on the bridge."


	2. Chapter 2

Star Trek Online

In the Shadows of War

Chapter 2

The Admiral in question stood at the back of the bridge, arms folded behind his back, and a pleasant grin on his face. Everything about the human announced that he was a career Starfleet officer. His dark black hair was cut short and cropped, matching the trimmed style of his goatee. His posture bespoke of authority and confidence, amplified by a uniform that was crisp and pristine. The long black admiral's coat he wore was not standard issue, but it suited the demeanor of a no nonsense superior officer. Stevaan straightened slightly out of propriety, but the smile he gave the Admiral was nothing but friendly. Darin Baasch had been one of Stevaan's best friends during his first posting out of the academy, and was the singular reason he had not only been given his own command, but one of his choosing. As Admiral Baasch walked down to where the group stood, he took in the current state of the bridge.

"Things coming along well I hope? Not interrupting anything critical am I, Captain Daar?"

Stevaan reached out a hand to shake, and the Admiral took it readily and vigorously.

"Not at all, Admiral. The Commander and I were just finishing up."  
Admiral Baasch released Stevaan's hand and turned his attention to the Commander and her aide.

"Ah yes, Commander T'Sha. A pleasure to meet you. I have been reading up on your reports. You have my compliments and respect for managing such a large project with such precision."

Commander T'Sha nodded her head slowly and softly, with the closest thing to humility Stevaan had ever seen. As she looked up, she glanced at him, then quickly to Baasch, then back to him. He could only assume that she was trying to puzzle out what had brought a Rear Admiral out to her refit project. From her looks, Stevaan had a feeling that she was placing the reason squarely at his feet. T'Sha did not raise any questions though, if she had any, and politely excused herself to the Admiral. With a last curt nod for himself, T'Sha turned on her heel and headed towards the turbolift, assistant in tow. As the lift doors finally closed, Stevaan turned back to the Admiral, and his smile broke into a broad grin.

"So what brings you out this way, Darin? Proxima is more than a fair distance from the Aldebaran sector. Or am I just unfortunate enough to warrant a personal visit from command staff even before leaving the docks?"

Admiral Baasch cracked a smile to match the one Stevaan had sprouted.

"Well if the newest Captain under my command, with his choice of ship to helm, had chosen a ship that was on active duty, much less in one piece, we'd be having this conversation over subspace channels. Not that I mind the excuse for a change in scenery."

Stevaan's smile turned a little wry, but retained its friendly twist. Squaring up his shoulders, he took a step towards Darin.

"That's right, just blame it your subordinates. I'll have you know, if any of these new and supposedly advanced ships were even half as robust as the _Galaxy_ -class spaceframe, I might have considered any of them. As it is, after this refit is completed, I'd wager that the _Bastion_ will still be going strong for decades after the next ship to come out of the shipyards has gone obsolete."

Darin actually chuckled out loud at that statement. He closed the gap between Stevaan and himself, and clapped a hand on the Captain's shoulder.

"That's only because any ship with you onboard is too afraid to break down or stop working, lest you launch into one of your famous cursing tirades. Or worse, try and fix the problem."

Stevaan's smile slid away into a looked of feigned insult, and he shrugged the Admiral's hand away before giving him a light hearted punch to the arm, though still forceful enough to rock Darin slightly. This only caused the Admiral to laugh harder, even as he rubbed at the place where Stevaan had hit him. Stevaan jabbed a finger into Darin's chest to punctuate his statements.

"Keep insulting my engineering skills, Admiral, and I'll be glad to give you a tirade of curses right here."

Darin stifled his laughter as best he could, as he held his hands up in a mock defensive posture.

"Alright. Alright, Captain. We definitely don't want that. I'm sure the refit crew doesn't want to have to resurface the bulkheads in here, and I don't feel like explaining why they'd need to."

Stevaan finally laughed aloud. He had to concede to Darin the point where the volatility of his foul mouth was concerned. Darin laughed louder again, and soon the two men were laughing and slapping shoulders with each other. After a few moments, Darin's laughter finally began to wind down, and Stevaan wasn't far behind him. Soon the laughing had calmed to mild chuckling, and before long, that too had faded into a mirthful silence. Finally, Stevaan broke the silence as he spoke up.

"So, in all seriousness, what has brought you out here? Some higher up suddenly realize who it is that you promoted?"

Darin shook his head, though a smirk did begin to reappear on his face.

"No. Nothing like that, though the subject is something of a sensitive one. Anywhere around here that we can have a more secluded and secure conversation?"

Stevaan stepped into his quarters aboard the _Bastion_ ahead of Darin, setting his cases on a table just inside the door. Gesturing for Darin to enter, he stepped over to his desk and stood next to the chair there. Darin took a few strides inside then stopped to take in the room. The room was of standard size and configuration for the quarters of a starship's commanding officer, with a moderate sized living space, a separated sleeping area, and enough room for a desk and large wall terminal for attending to the duties that a Captain could never escape. Much like the rest of the ship, there were a number of panels dismounted from bulkheads, which in conjunction with the bare furnishings and lack of many personal belongings, compounded to give the whole space a sterile feeling. Darin was immediately drawn to the tall windows set into the far wall, which he quickly moved to. With the ship's current orientation, they provided a view of the planet Proxima below, slowly spinning on its axis, looking like a multicolored gem wrapped in black velvet.

"That sort of view never gets old does it?"

Stevaan nodded in agreement, though didn't say anything. Sitting down, he waited for his friend to broach the subject that had brought him here. Darin turned to face Stevaan, but lifted a hand pointed out the large bay windows.

"It was this sort of thing that dragged you back, you know. Not me, and not any number of Admirals, could have pulled you out of retirement. You wanted to come back."

Stevaan leaned back, now slightly suspicious of where the conversation was about to go. The tone in Darin's voice was once of reluctance, but the man had never been reluctant about anything in his life. He could only assume that something was weighing on his friend. Something that he felt he couldn't come out and say even to his best friend. Stevaan tried to help him along.

"Well, the jury is still out as to the exact reasons. Once I manage to figure them out, you'll be the first I call." Stevaan leaned forward and made a noncommittal wave with a hand to one side. "So what is this all about? What's bothering you?"

Darin looked into Stevaan's eyes, but couldn't seem to hold the gaze, instead shifting to look back out the windows. When he it seemed that he had worked up what to say, Darin turned back around and drew himself up.

"To be perfectly honest, it's the Klingons."

Stevaan felt his chin hit his chest before he realized that he had let his head droop. He quickly lifted his head up slightly, but only to bury his eyes in his hand to rub at the sudden twinge he felt growing there. Suddenly, he had the terrible feeling that he knew exactly what was bothering Darin, and it was only indirectly the Klingons.

"Darin. You promised me no fighting."

Though Stevaan could not see it, Darin flushed slightly, either from embarrassment or guilt or perhaps both. Stevaan lifted his head and folded his arms across his chest.

"I came back because you were going to keep me away from any conflicts. Right?"

"I highly doubt that was the only reason that you came back, but yes, I did. Unfortunately the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council didn't run it by me before he ordered the seizing of the Korvat system." Darin's voice seemed to be threaded by equal parts apologetic and accusatory.

"And now, the latest intelligence reports suggest that the Empire may be ready to make good on their demands for all of the Archanis sector. Rumors are flying that High Council has already moved a number of fleets into position. Starfleet already has the 8th and 11th fleets on blockade duty in the Hromi star cluster, in response to the Korvat debacle, to prevent any more ships from sneaking across. But if they come in force, and what other way would you expect a Klingon to come at you, we're going to be stretched mighty thin."

Stevaan shook his head, and only barely kept the deep displeasure he as feeling from spreading all over his face. Though judging how Darin would occasionally look elsewhere, Stevaan suspected some of it had started to show. Considering the situation, Stevaan didn't mind it at all.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do about it? A single starship captain isn't going to make a difference in that kind of situation."

Darin started pacing along the length of the room.

"I have been handed the responsibility of creating a special task force. One capable of responding to sudden emergencies, or handling more small scale tasks that require quicker planning and response than a large fleet could muster. If and when the Klingons decide to make a move in the Archanis sector, it will likely be wide spread. Anything less, and there would be a chance for us to counter, and end the conflict before it could begin.

"So, assuming the worst comes to pass, that's where you come in. You have years of combat and wartime experience. You have personally fought against and alongside Klingons before. You can be insufferably cautious at times, and yet you have proven that you can recognize when risks have to be taken. And whether you like it or not, you're a damn good leader as well.

"Throw into that mix the fact that I am aware of nothing electrical, mechanical, or structural that you can't fix. Or at least make work a little longer. All of this wraps up to make you the number one candidate for this task force."

Stevaan could feel his glare losing the heat he had built up in his moment of frustration. Darin's whole argument was as solid as could be. His assessment of his engineering skills may have been slightly inflated, though Stevaan suspected that Darin had used that off handed remark as a subtle attempt to stoke his ego. Stevaan couldn't deny that it had worked to a degree. He also recognized that the speech felt almost rehearsed, or at the very least, Darin had already been giving the matter considerable thought. Darin must've known that he would come up with any manner of counter argument to avoid the possibility of combat. Stevaan wasn't about to disappoint him then.

"There are bound to be other qualified and skilled captains, besides me. It's not like Starfleet came to a stop for the decade I was gone."

Darin grinned, gave a small shrug in response.

"There are others with experience, yes. There are others with talent, yes. But none have just the right mix I need, none but you."

Stevaan began going through his memory, trying to find someone that he thought could out do him, if for no other reason than to show Darin that he wasn't such a rarity.

"What about Richards? From back on the Centaur. I heard he made Captain recently. And he's seen and done just about everything the two of us have. If not more by this point."

Darin nodded. "He took command of the _USS Gryphon_ about a month ago so. Unfortunately, the _Gryphon_ is part of the 8th fleet, and is on assignment in the Xaratine sector."

Stevaan dug deeper.

"Shondala. She's Captain of the _Ajax_ as I recall. And I know for a fact that she has more combat experience that the two of us combined."

"Well of course she does," Darin said with a chuckle. "She's almost 122 years old. Which, as it happens, is why she is retiring at the end of the month."  
Stevaan scratched his beard along his jawline.

"What about Zomtru? He seemed like a kid with potential."

"Died in a glider accident on Bolarus IX a few years back, if I recall correctly."

Stevaan was becoming desperate, but he was careful not let Darin see it. Unfortunately, only one other name occurred to him that had any potential.

"Drexl?"

Darin looked perplexed for a moment, then a look of recognition filled his face.

"As in, Drexl the Angry Antican?" Darin managed to get out between chuckles.

Stevaan smiled back, sharing in the same humorous memories the two of them had of the mutual acquaintance. "That's him. What ever happened to him?"

Darin spread his hands wide in a gesture of uncertainty, and actually started laughing.

"Not sure. I lost track of him after his court martial."

Stevaan felt a surge of surprise well up at the mention of a court martial, though it was quickly dampened by the memories of how aggressive and touchy and individual Drexl had been.

"Court martial? For what?"

"Officially, it was for assaulting a superior officer." Darin was beginning to have difficulty getting the words out around his laughter, which continued to build in intensity. "But technically, it was biting a superior officer."

Both men laughed heartily and without restraint. Not only in the humor they felt, but at the nostalgia that floated up with it. Laughter that was able to momentarily press aside their present concerns, and let them reminisce freely. But the present quickly began to reassert itself in their minds. Stevaan's laughter began dropping away first and quickly died away as a sudden realization struck him. Darin too began to get his chuckling under control, as he noticed a look of concern on his friend's face. In his head, Stevaan ran down the list of people and places that he had met and known, and was faced with the undeniable fact that most of them were gone. Darin was the only associate from his past that he had maintained any sort of contact with, but even if he had kept up to date on more of his past associations, the truth of the matter was that he was out living too many of them. And with that, his train of thought ran its course.

"When did we get so old?"

Darin straightened slightly, but didn't seem taken aback by the question. He came to stand by Stevaan's desk, folding his arms across his front.

"I don't know Stevaan. To be honest, I think we both became old men by virtue of surviving the Dominion War."

Stevaan glanced up at his friend.

"And do you want to go and do that again?"

Darin grimaced slightly and strolled back to the windows across the room. The inner struggle clear on his face, as he watched the blue and green planet slowly rotating beneath them.

"Look, Stevaan, I know you've had your fill of war. So have I. But I'd be lying if I said it was something that would never happen again. But you have seen it. You have survived it. And the young officers of Starfleet who have never experienced such a thing are going to need that sort of man around very soon. But I know how heavy it weighs on you, which is why I won't order you to take this posting. But I'm asking as a great personal favor. I need you Stevaan. All of Starfleet needs you, whether they know it or not."

Stevaan sighed heavily as he ran his hands through his hair. His once dark blond, but now graying hair. Standing, he slowly walked over to stand by Darin, and took in the view as well. He could practically feel the weight of his rank and commission pressing down on him, compounded by his age, his past, and by what he knew lay in the immediate future for the Federation. A United Federation of Planets, whose ideals and very existence he had pledged an oath to protect and uphold. An oath that had brought him back into Starfleet after an already commendable career. He had been well aware of the current political and military climate of the quadrant when he agreed to return. Perhaps that awareness had been the true deciding factor in his decision to come back.

"Do you remember that rally call that went out when we were retaking Betazed?"

Darin's mouth twitched slightly and his eyes closed, remembering the battle from long ago, and the words that had brought out every ounce of talent and skill from those attempting to free the planet.

"We stand, we fight, we hold. We do this for those that cannot. Captain Reynolds did have a way with words."

"Yes. Yes, he did."

Stevaan nodded, his mind made up.

"I'm all yours. Tell me when and where, and I'll make it happen. For those that cannot."

Sudden relief flooded across Darin's face, and he made no effort to hold it back or hide its presence. He reached out and grabbed Stevaan's shoulder in a reassuring grip.

"Likewise. You want it, you'll get it. In fact my next stop is Starfleet Headquarters. I'll start the administrative ball rolling, while you start putting together a dream sheet for the task force. Sound good?"

Stevaan nodded with a grim but satisfied look in his eye, and Darin returned the assent before quickly excusing himself. He knew his friend would pull every string there was, call in every favor he had, if it meant giving this task force the means to succeed. But Stevaan's mind was already looking forward to what was undoubtedly just over the horizon. War and all the horrors and struggles that came with it, and Stevaan expected nothing but the worst of it to be put before him. Leaning against the window, he looked out at the planet below, but his gaze slid over to where the gantry of the dry dock facility was visible with numerous shuttles and work crews currently at work on the _Bastion's_ hull. How many of them would be put at risk by a war? How many of them would come back from one? Stevaan ran his hand down the wall a ways and drew himself up straight. Though uncertainty loomed heavily over the imminent future, there was one thing Stevaan took as fact. If he was going to be dragged into a war, then he was going to make sure that as many people came out of it alive as possible.

Even if it killed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Star Trek Online

In the Shadows of War

Chapter 3

Stevaan rubbed at his eyes in a vain attempt to bring them into focus. Glancing to where the ship's time was displayed in the lower right of his monitor, it took the briefest of moments for him to calculate that he had been going non-stop for the last twelve hours. Aside from the mental lag in doing such simple math telling him he was very tired, the time also reminded Stevaan that he hadn't eaten in several hours. At which point, his stomach grumbled to add its opinion to the matter. Stevaan stood up gingerly; his muscles and joints stiffened from remaining still for so long, and went over to a small locker in the corner of his quarters. Popping the lid up and open, he fumbled around inside for a moment before withdrawing with a large sealed ration pack and his canteen. The best that could be managed with main power still offline.

Returning to his desk, Stevaan opened the ration pack and poured out the contents. Unfortunately the refit station only had the most basic of emergency rations on hand, so the meal before him looked more akin to a child's set of multicolored building blocks, all in their own individual wrappers. A porous looking beige bar labeled carbo-fiber concentrate, a brown square wafer of protein supplement, and a handful of small packets of rainbow hued solids containing various supplemental sugars, minerals, and vitamins. Stevaan took up the protein wafer first, tearing away the wrapping. Biting into it and slowly chewing, Stevaan was put off by the almost paste like consistency of the wafer. Judging by the taste, someone in an R&D center somewhere had thought to add a flavor that approximated dried meat to the wafer, but didn't quite get there as far as Stevaan was concerned. He grimaced slightly as his senses tried to process the incongruities between flavor, texture, and even the smell which he tried not to pay much attention to.

Stevaan took a large swig of water from his canteen and shook his head, chuckling to himself as he began opening the rest of the packets and placing them into a pile on his desk. He found himself amused by the thought that he had found something less palatable than the Cardassian field rations that some resistance members had managed to steal back during the Occupation of Bajor. Stevaan took another bite from the protein wafer as he turned back to his work on the large wall monitor, only briefly noting that he was already getting used to the rations odd properties. The monitor on his wall was a cacophony of lists and inventories, much of which he had already forwarded to Admiral Baasch. Most of it was requisitions for materiel to more quickly complete the _Bastion's_ refit. Raw materials, reactor fuel, even personal armaments. Additionally, Stevaan was trying to predict and list out which supplies would be useful to have once deployed. He knew that these were essentially wish lists, with Starfleet moving to mobilize so many ships are once, and all of them undoubtedly in need of something.

Stevaan reached for another of the colored ration blocks on his desk, having finished the protein wafer. He could only guess that he had reviewed these lists and requisitions a half dozen times so far. Stevaan knew that it was partially from wanting to be absolutely certain that all his supply bases were covered. But he could not deny to himself that part of him was trying to avoid moving on to the next requisition need. That of personnel. Stevaan stood and stretched his back, still chewing on something that he could not identify the flavor or texture of, and so chose not to. Asking for supplies and materiel was easy. One stembolt would seal just as well as another, and any given bucket of deuterium would burn the same as the next. But people were so very different. People were so very complicated. Stevaan chuckled at a remembered saying from his Temporal Mechanics instructor at the Academy.

 _You think this is hard? This is just time. If you want hard, go down the hall to Anthropology._

It had mostly been a slight in-joke between Academy staff, but Stevaan had seen some truth in the jape. Individual sentient beings were so complicated that there had yet to be a math or science that could accurately predict how they would react or behave at any given moment. And yet, here he was, having to figure out the best way to squeeze several hundred unique individuals into a single ship, and in such a way that they would behave and perform in the most efficient and effective manner possible. And on top of it all, he was going to be purposefully placing these people into highly unstable and dangerous situations. A position every ship captain or commanding officer dreaded. Of course, procrastinating was not going to help anyone.

"Computer. Have all critical materiel requirements had appropriate requisitions filed?"

The computer whirred for only a moment before replying. "Affirmative."

"Good. And the requisitions for standard operations?"

"Materials and supply requisitions for standard operating parameters have been filed and logged with Starfleet Materiel Command."

Stevaan nodded knowingly. "Alright then, Computer, clear screens of current data and begin new cross referencing search. Display all Starfleet personnel that are up for, or are eligible for reassignment, within, oh, ten lightyears of this current location. Specialty flag on any files with any variations on the following keywords: determined, adaptable, teamwork, insubordination.

Stevaan knew the kind of people he liked – intelligent, creative, dependable, and a decent stubborn streak. Having the brightest and most book smart crew in the fleet wouldn't help you if no one ever took their own initiative, or stood up for their work. Of course Stevaan also tended to like his stubborn streaks a little broader than most Starfleet captains did.

The computer obediently removed all the files currently on display and began to create a list of Starfleet personnel on screen. The names began to appear at sporadic intervals. A few names would appear all at once, and then it would be several moments before one more appeared, and so on. Stevaan knew that the process would take quite some time to run and compile, even if the _Bastion's_ main computer weren't mostly offline. The thought made him sigh internally as he reached for more ration cubes. Just the other day, he was ready to dig in and work with meticulous attention to detail on his new ship, and after a few months, have her launched and ready for anything. Now, he felt like the work could not be completed fast enough. It felt like the ship, and by some extension himself, had been ambushed, and he was now scrambling to assess the situation and get into the fight. It helped assuage his concerns only slightly that this was a very accurate description for the series of events that had actually transpired to bring him to this moment. But he didn't care how this had come to him. Only that it had, and that he wasn't ready. And therefore he had to catch up. His only concern right now was how to catch up faster.

As the names continued to be listed on his wall monitor, Stevaan turned slightly and spun his desk terminal around to face him. He may have to take what he could get as far as standing crew, but he was going to need a top notch senior staff. And for that, he was willing to pull every string and call in every favor he had. Though, he had to admit to himself, that it would also probably take every bit of pull that Admiral Baasch had as well. He already had a short list of desired persons in mind, not all of whom were Starfleet personnel. And more than one that would undoubtedly raise eyebrows with Command. But Stevaan focused in on the immediate task at hand, which meant covering the critical bases. No matter what he hoped or Darin promised, Stevaan knew that he and his ship would be seeing combat sooner rather than later. This demanded three critical functions that would be core to all future operations - the crew's readiness, ship and equipment performance, and the tactical capability of the two together. Stevaan grinned to himself, as a number of names immediately leapt to the front of his thoughts, and reached out to tap the interface key on his desktop computer interface.

"Computer. Display personnel files, service records, and all associated assignment records for Lieutenant Commander Shaelis Corra, Lieutenant Karlya Uton, and Commander Timothy Magrath."

The computer chimed and processed the request, but halted suddenly and displayed a Starfleet Security logo, along with a string of text that Stevaan recognized on sight as a standard warning of security protocols. The computer alerted him verbally shortly after the image appeared.

"Attention. Classified documents and files are associated with the request as stated. Access to certain files are restricted."

"Computer. Access all associated files. Authorization; Daar Stevaan, six-one-zero-two, foxtrot-sierra, three-seven. Display results to main wall station."

The computer chirped momentarily, and then began to display the requested information on his wall monitor, automatically creating three columns of scrolling data, one for each named individual. Stevaan only gave the streaming information a cursory glance, since he was fairly familiar with all three of them. Corra was one of the best biologists and biochemists that he knew of, though he found himself hard pressed to think of any others that he had ever met. More importantly, she was the best doctor he had ever come across, with the added bonus of experience in field medicine. Karlya was an old friend, a young woman that he had mentored in his younger days as a starship engineer. He had kept abreast of her career when he could, and was pleased to see that what he had not known about was even better. The list of commendations for creative engineering solutions had grown considerably since he had last checked on her, causing him to grin, and make a mental note to ask her about them all when he next had the chance. Stevaan paused a moment to look over some of the information scrolling up Commander Magrath's column. Stevaan had only met the man in passing, but knew much of him by reputation. Stevaan whistled softly to himself as a list of engagements that Magrath had played a role in scrolled by. To the best that his memory could recall, it seemed the young man had managed to put himself into practically every Borg engagement in the last fifteen years. A record anyone in Starfleet could respect.

Stevaan nodded thoughtfully as he turned back to his desk interface. The three officers now on his wall monitor accounted for the core of starship operations, and assured him that the Bastion would be ready for any situation, make it through any fight, and be able to be ready for the next emergency in short order. But that still left him with some more specialized roles still needing filled. Not to mention someone that could keep everything running together smoothly. Several names filled his thoughts, but there was one that stood out. Stevaan gave a soft sigh as a sense of reluctance suddenly filled him. He reached off to the side of his desk, and not feeling anything, looked over to see that he had finished off the unappealing ration pack entirely. Taking a deep breath he sat up straight and began accessing the ship's communication network.

A few adjustments later, and he sat back as his signal was bounced into subspace. As he waited, he looked at the display of ship's time again. It was very late. Or extremely early, depending on how you looked at it. He had no idea what time it was locally to where he was calling, though he hoped it was not the middle of the night. A minute later the display on his screen flashed momentarily to show a greenish colored logo he did not recognize. The logo promptly disappeared, and was replaced by the face of a Romulan woman that he had not seen in a long time.

Her jet black hair shined gently in the lighting of the room she occupied, falling in waves past her shoulders, brushed back and clipped in place in such a way that only allowed a hint of the points of her ears to show through. The angles of her cheekbones and the soft hint of the ridge across her brow caused soft shadows about her face that leant a look of mysteriousness and temptation. The woman on screen began talking before fully turning her attention to the call.

"You've reached Virinat Aquifer Processing, how can I…"

The woman's words trailed off as her gaze met his. Stevaan could feel the back of his throat begin to tighten as he saw the sense of recognition and realization dawning in her deep black eyes. Several variations of greetings and salutations raced through his mind, but he couldn't decide or focus. The woman raised an eyebrow as her delicate lips pulled into a tight line, the look on her face shifting smoothly from one of recognition to one of mild disdain, and Stevaan's mouth went dry.

"Hello Stevaan. I must admit that I am surprised to see you. I was under the impression that you had forgotten how to operate a comms system."

Stevaan tried to smile, but he knew the look directed at him all too well, and any hopes of an amicable conversation withered.


End file.
